Miss Fisher and the Broken Broker
by MissTempleton
Summary: The Inspector and Miss Fisher are caught up in the world of high finance - and high windows. The one for Take Your Fandom To Work Day.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"Simone, thank you. You are, quite simply, a genius."

The Honourable Phryne Fisher twisted and turned in front of the mirror in Madame Fleurie's fitting room. She liked what she saw; the wraparound design of the dress would allow her to wear it late on into her pregnancy, and the neat, boxy jacket disguised her expanding waistline.

The couturier smiled in satisfaction. "Phryne, as ever, you are a joy to dress. Even in pregnancy, you hold yourself well. We will provide variations on this idea in silk and velvet, as well as some other prints of this light cotton."

Phryne nodded her approval, then turned to give the older woman a quizzical look.

"I wasn't even sure you would be interested," she commented. "After all, the expectant mother is very far from your normal line of work."

Simone laughed without a hint of humour. "Phryne, even if you had decided simply to pile on a hundred pounds of weight through overeating and idleness – not that you ever would – I would be interested. A couturier cannot afford to pick and choose clients in these times. I will even suggest to Renée that she comes up with a prêt-à-porter line, if you will permit?"

Phryne agreed readily, smiling wryly at the way the world had changed after the '29 crash. As the seamstress helped her out of the dress, she collapsed into the armchair behind her. Lifting one foot, then the other, to flex her toes and examine them, she groaned involuntarily.

"My feet are already aching, and this is barely five months. What am I going to be like at nine?"

Simone turned from giving instruction to her seamstress and said one word.

"Pedicure."

Phryne winced.

"Simone, I'm just not in the mood for the high society bitching that entails."

Simone smiled. "But there is no need. You should trust your weary feet to the girls at Marlene's"

Phryne wrinkled her brow. "Marlene? I don't think ..."

"No, you won't have heard of her. She is running a training college for girls who wish to learn hairdressing and beauty treatments. In Little Collins Street. I will give you the address, and telephone Marlene, and they will be delighted to see you."

Phryne's look showed her clearly suspending disbelief, but Simone was as good as her word. An hour later, Phryne was floating back to her Hispano-Suiza on feet which, while not precisely walking on air, were at least so thoroughly pampered that they were prepared to pretend for a while.

Driving home, however, their understanding was sorely tested when Phryne was forced to stand on the brakes. The culprit's name, she later discovered, was Algernon Armstrong. He turned up unexpectedly in front of the car just as she was starting to fantasise about a Nice Nap when she got home.

The fact that his appearance under her wheels started from a third storey window really didn't help at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Whisking out of her seat, she went to examine the deceased (his descent from that height meant she didn't really feel the need to check for Vital Signs) and looked up in search of useful allies.

Rejecting the woman who was screaming and the man who was retching, she fixed on a youth who, although white-faced, appeared to be in command of his faculties.

"You. Go and telephone City South police station, and tell them that Miss Fisher requests Inspector Robinson's assistance here, at a suspicious death. Repeat that back to me?"

The youth, whatever his other skills might have been, had clearly learned to remember short instructions, and was sent on his way without further ado.

Her husband arrived almost as swiftly as she might have expected. With bells on. Quite literally. And also with a Senior Constable who was very well known to her.

"Inspector," was her terse greeting.

"Miss Fisher," he replied politely, squatting on the opposite side of the body to his wife. He cast a brief glance at the head wound and the ugly angle of the limbs and grimaced.

"Do we know who it is?"

Phryne was about to disclaim, when the pallid youth who had been such an effective messenger piped up. She hadn't even realised that he'd returned to the scene.

"I do. It's Mr. Armstrong."

Jack glanced at him, and rose to his feet, unconsciously stretching a hand to the lady who was already discovering disappointing gaps in her physical fitness and flexibility. She grasped the hand offered, pulled herself up and tried very, very hard not to resent the need.

"And you are …?" he asked.

"Ned," said the lad. "Ned Boothby. Caller."

Jack risked a quick glance at Miss Fisher, but she clearly had no more idea than he what the last thing the lad had said might mean. Fortunately, Ned had met the problem many times.

"I work in there," and he jerked his head at the building behind them.

The sleuths turned to look at the building.

"Is that where … he … came from?" asked Phryne, nodding towards the body still lying in the roadway, waiting to be tidied up by the people whose job it was.

Ned, steadily rebuilding both confidence and the security of his stomach contents, confirmed that it was.

"And that is ..?" enquired Jack, who thought he knew but didn't want to look a fool. If he was right, there were going to be plenty of opportunities for that later.

"The Melbourne Stock Exchange," said Ned, as though only a fool wouldn't know.

Already too late then, thought Jack wryly. Senior Constable Collins was making industrious notes.

"Who's in charge?" he asked Ned.

"Mr Rowlands," answered Ned instantly. "He's the Chairman." He started to move towards the heavy wooden door of the building. "I'll take you up if you like."

Jack thanked him briefly and started towards the door. A clicking of heels made him glance back to see Miss Fisher following in his footsteps. He halted, and she glared at him.

" _I_ telephoned _you_ , Jack, remember?"

"You did, and the police force of the State of Victoria is eternally in your debt. But, Miss Fisher, this is quite possibly a murder investigation ..."

At that point, she turned away from him and started to walk slowly back to the Hispano, before stopping suddenly and doubling over, a hand at her waist.

"Miss!" "Phryne!" While the investigation team around the body continued unperturbed, the exclamations of the two policemen nearest her were simultaneous. Hugh Collins took hold of the outstretched hand, and Inspector Robinson ran to throw a supporting arm around her.

"Jack, don't fuss. I'm fine. Really. Just give me a minute. Is there somewhere to sit down?"

Ned led the way into the reception area of the Stock Exchange building, and with great bustle, a seat and a glass of water were discovered for the lady detective. At the same time, a tall, silver-haired gentleman wearing a suit that very quietly trumpeted his seniority came down the stairs and naturally gravitated towards the scene of the minor drama.

"Can I help at all?" he enquired politely.

Phryne looked up and fastened on her best, hundred-watt smile.

Jack's eyes narrowed at the rapidity of her recovery.

"Oh, really, I don't want to be any trouble," said his wife, holding out a hand in positively regal greeting, which the man saluted in gentlemanly style.

"No trouble at all, ma'am" said the man. "Perhaps you'd like to lie down for a few minutes? I have a chaise longue in my office that you could use."

"That would be _tremendously_ kind," exclaimed Phryne, striking a carefully calculated balance between helpless patient and social butterfly. Jack was no longer suspicious – he was entirely sure.

"Wouldn't you prefer one of my men to drive you home, Miss Fisher?" he asked coldly; but she was already rising to her feet with the assistance of her new _cavalier servante_.

"It's quite all right, Inspector," she smiled at him graciously. "I know how you hate me to appropriate your men for my own purposes. I'm sure I'll be fine with the help of Mr …?" she looked enquiringly at the man on whose arm she was gently resting.

"Rowlands. John Rowlands," he supplied. "Chairman of the Melbourne Stock Exchange, and very much at your service, Miss – Fisher?"

"Indeed," she confirmed, and leaned in to him to say confidingly. "Mrs Robinson when I'm at home, but professionally, Miss Fisher. My card." She proffered it as though bestowing alms on the poor, and it was received in suitably worshipful manner.

Jack ground his teeth and followed them up the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Miss Fisher was duly ensconced on a chaise longue in Mr Rowlands' well-appointed first floor office. The glass of water had been replaced by a cup of tea, and anxious care taken that her seat was placed so as to benefit from such cooling breeze as was available from the open windows, but not in the distressingly bright sunlight.

"You must have suffered a considerable shock," said Rowlands. "I am a little shaken myself. Poor Armstrong!" He shook his head sorrowfully.

Miss Fisher glanced under her lids at the Inspector, who was leaning against the wall by one of the open windows. His jaded expression warned her that perhaps she should now tone down her act a little.

"It – _was_ – rather horrible," she said artlessly. "I was very glad that the police arrived so quickly. Inspector, please don't let me interrupt your enquiries." She smiled hopefully at Jack; he gave her A Look which promised retribution before the day was out, and straightened.

"You're very kind, Miss Fisher," he said with more than a hint of sarcasm. "Mr Rowlands, do I understand that Mr Armstrong is – was, rather – an employee here?"

"Not as such," Rowlands took a seat behind the great desk and placed his elbows upon it, steepling his hands. "He's a broker. He works – worked, excuse me – for Moore & Sons, and has a seat here at the Exchange."

"A seat?" asked Phryne. "What, like this one, you mean?" indicating the brocaded chaise longue on which she was reclining.

"No, my dear," Rowlands smiled in a manner which was positively avuncular. Jack, through immense effort, managed to avoid rolling his eyes. "He trades shares here in the Exchange. That is what we mean by having 'a seat'."

Mr & Mrs Robinson formed matching "Oh"s silently with their mouths and nodded knowledgably.

Phryne cracked first.

"Sorry, I still don't understand. You mean, you have to sit down to trade shares?"

Rowlands' smile broadened. "It's not exactly compulsory, but if you have a Seat, it's customary to sit on it. The brokers sit in the Call Room, and when the Caller – like young Ned – reads out the name of a company share, the brokers shout out the levels at which they're prepared to buy and sell to fill their clients' orders. If you've ever been to an auction?" he looked enquiringly at his audience, which nodded slowly, "well, it's a lot like that, although perhaps a little noisier! The bargains are matched up between the brokers, and noted down, and at the end of the day the paperwork starts changing hands – the seller receives his cash, the buyer pays for it and receives the share certificate."

"And was …" Jack referred to his notes, "Mr Armstrong particularly bad at this exercise?"

"Oh, dear me, no," said Rowlands. He frowned in thought. "Actually, if anything, he was rather good at it. One of the Coming Men of the Melbourne Exchange, I'd have said."

"So – forgive me," Jack hesitated, "perhaps not the type of man you would have expected to take his own life?"

His words clearly hit a nerve.

"No, Inspector," said Rowlands shortly. "I hope I never have to see another such reaction to the Crash, although there have been many men brought low by speculation that's gone horribly wrong." He stood, and walked to the window by the desk, flung wide open like all the others to try to combat the baking heat. He was silent for a moment in thought, then turned to the two sleuths, with an expression that was starkly drawn.

"Men – and women – have taken their own lives because of what happened in '29, Inspector – but on the basis of his work here, I would say that Algy Armstrong was most definitely not one of them."

"So …" asked Phryne carefully, "you think it likely he – was pushed out of that window?"

Rowlands exhaled heavily.

"I'm afraid that's the only thing I _can_ think, Miss Fisher."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Miss Fisher, you are shameless."

Inspector Robinson had elected, rather than remaining to supervise the initial questioning of the Exchange staff with Collins, to drive his wife home. Her assertion that she was Absolutely Fine, Now, Jack, Really was studiously ignored.

She had the grace to look a little apologetic, but came out fighting.

"I stick by my argument, Jack. It was _my_ case, and I generously called you in immediately. How you could have dreamed of leaving me out of it, I really don't know."

"Miss Fisher, what you call _generous_ the rest of the population, apart from the more criminal elements, refer to as _civic duty_."

He glanced across at her.

"And I don't think there's a name for the way in which you subsequently inveigled your way into Rowlands' office. Not one that's used in polite society, anyway."

His severity didn't have the desired effect. She grinned, and shifted across the seat so that she could place a daring hand on his leg and her head on his shoulder.

"By all means, Jack, tell me the names you think might be appropriate. I promise not to repeat them in polite society."

He pulled the Hispano up outside 221B and put an arm around her shoulders. He then whispered several decidedly Shakespearean words in her ear that made her, respectively, smile, giggle and laugh out loud; then turn to him with a coquettish glance.

"Inspector, you know me so _well_."

Remaining angry with Miss Fisher for any length of time was a skill he'd yet to acquire, and they walked together up the path to the front door hand in hand. As he placed his hat on the hall stand, though, he sighed.

"I may know you, but I don't know about the business of the stock market _at all_. You're the one with the investments, Phryne – please explain it to me."

She only shrugged, though, as she led the way to the kitchen in search of some of Mr Butler's iced lemonade. "Oh, Jack, my investments have always been duller than the dullest thing you can imagine. I mostly lend money to the government, for which they very politely pay me a hefty chunk of interest once a year, and I persuaded my stockbroker to let me buy some gold, because it's pretty, so about a quarter of my money's in that. It didn't used to be as much as that but it's gone up rather a lot lately."

She poured them both a glass from the jug in the refrigerator and took a thirsty gulp. "But that's more or less it. Perce – that's Percival, my stockbroker – Perce and I have a lovely lunch every year, just after Christmas, when he tells me about the exciting new things he wants to buy and I say no. I don't need to, you see – I've got plenty, and the government's awfully nice about paying me interest on the money I've lent them. Perce wanted me to do something called Selling Short last year, but I told him that the only things I like to be short are goodbyes, my hemlines and the sermon on Sunday."

Jack grinned appreciatively and thanked his stars that his job didn't entail trying to make Miss Fisher do something she didn't like.

(Well, not very often).

Just then there was a clatter at the front door. Followed by a slam. A clunk as a bag of something heavy was dropped on the floor.

It didn't take a sleuth to work out that Jane had come home from the library.

She hurried into the kitchen, barely acknowledging those present. "Miss Phryne. Uncle Jack." The jug of lemonade was retrieved again and the remains drained into a glass, before being drained into Jane.

Phryne cleared her throat meaningfully as the door of the refrigerator was re-opened to put the empty jug back inside.

"Oh. Sorry."

Jane carried the jug to the sink and washed it up carefully, placing it to dry on the draining board.

Phryne was never sure whether Jane's mind was on Higher Things. It was usually on higher things than Phryne's own, that much was certain.

"Jane, do _you_ understand the stock market?" asked Jack idly.

"Oh yes," she smiled. "It's really not that complicated. It's a way for businesses to raise money to help them do more business, and then for the people who've invested to find out how much their investment's worth. We had a trip to the Stock Exchange when I was at Warley. It was fun."

That, at least, the sleuths could get their heads around. Possibly the fact that a juvenile had explained it made them assume they could understand. Said juvenile then, however, excused herself and left the grown-ups to wrestle with the problem.

"So, why would anyone kill a stockbroker?" mused Phryne.

"It might not have been anything to do with his job," Jack pointed out.

"True. But it was at his place of work, which surely has to mean it's more likely."

"Maybe he lost a client a lot of money – although on the basis of Rowlands' words, that doesn't seem likely."

Phryne shrugged. "We'll just have to ask Hugh in the morning what he got from the initial statements."

" _We_?" asked Jack witheringly.

Phryne grinned. "It's either that or I get Dot to grill him over his dinner, Jack. You might as well accept it – Fisher & Williams are involved in the case."

Mr Butler returned from his shopping trip at that point to discover Mr & Mrs Robinson facing off over the kitchen table. Emergency measures were called for.

"Dinner will be ready in half an hour – can I pour anyone a glass of champagne in the meantime?"

Mrs Robinson accepted champagne. Knowing it no longer agreed with her, Mr Robinson maliciously opted for heavily chilled, neat gin.

As revenges went for yet another argument lost, it wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Thus it was that Senior Constable Collins had an audience of two for his report the following morning. Miss Fisher had even gone so far as to demonstrate her eagerness to hear it by cutting short the Inspector's bath that morning. She also warned him of the risks of Getting A Bit Soft.

He leered, she rolled her eyes, they both got dressed and they presented a uniform (if not, precisely, uniformed) front at City South at a respectable hour.

Hugh Collins, having rehearsed his report carefully for Mrs Collins the previous evening, was confident and eloquent – thereby ensuring that both the Inspector and Miss Fisher knew they weren't the first to hear the evidence.

"We've got the details on everyone's whereabouts, sir," he began, "and actually, there aren't many people who had to go to the third floor that day. I'll type up the full list of the occupants, but the only people on the third floor that day were three of the brokers and their secretaries."

"Only three?" The Inspector's brow furrowed in disbelief. "Surely there are more people than that involved in the business?"

"Yes, yes, sir, absolutely," said Collins hurriedly. "Only, they've been expanding, and the newest fellers have been put on the top floor."

"So, who's there, Hugh?" Phryne asked gently.

He consulted his notebook.

"The three brokers – Armstrong, Felix Schultz and Leonard Cooper. Cooper's been there the longest – for months he had the top floor to himself – and then Armstrong and Schultz arrived at around the same time. Their secretaries are Amy Black, Sarah Oliver and Caroline O' Dowd."

"In that order?" asked Phryne.

Collins consulted his notebook again. "Yes, Miss …?" and looked down at her.

She shook her head. "Probably just a silly coincidence – they're alphabetically aligned with the brokers they work for. Amy, Sarah, Caroline. Either it's a coincidence or it's even more difficult to get a job as a secretary these days than I thought."

A short silence ensued while all those present tried to think of the number of brokers that a Zelda or a Xanthe could be put to work for; and tried to avoid the thought that the current rate of unemployment in Melbourne would render that decision making process as valid as any other.

"Anyway, Collins," Jack brought them back to the present problem. "Where were the third floor staff at the time Armstrong-with-an-A went out of the window?"

Collins grimaced.

"It's not terribly clear, sir. Len Cooper had gone for lunch, but no-one saw him go, and although the bloke at the pie cart confirmed that he goes there every day, he couldn't swear to the time he was there; and Cooper says he walked up the street to eat it, and can't name anyone else who he met at the time. Schultz never eats lunch, but he likes to go and hang around the Herald's offices – he's got a mate on the City desk there, so I can check when he was there. The three ladies had all gone together to the teashop up the road."

Phryne looked at Jack. "Can Dot and I have a gossip with the ladies while you grill the men?"

He narrowed his eyes at her.

She raised her eyebrows innocently. "What? Offering to help. That's all."

"That's never all, with you, Miss Fisher," he growled, "but all right."

She simpered. "You could always say, Thank You, you know."

"Don't push it, Miss Fisher."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

When Fisher & Williams arrived at the Stock Exchange building, they didn't immediately head to the third floor. Instead, Miss Fisher strolled nonchalantly in the direction that a large group of gentlemen were hurrying; and Miss Williams followed slightly less certainly behind her.

They were heading, it turned out, to a large room set out amphitheatre-style, with three chairs behind a desk on a raised dais facing rising rows of individual seats and desks, which were gradually filling up with paperwork and associated brokers. Phryne hovered by the door, and spotted Ned Boothby, engrossed in conversation. She succeeded in catching his eye, and he excused himself to come and join the two detectives.

"Ned, how nice to see you," she smiled.

"Miss Fisher," he nodded politely. "And …?" he looked enquiringly at Dot.

Phryne performed introductions, and then said diffidently, "Ned, I don't suppose we could just hang around and watch for a little bit? Just to, you know, get a feel for what actually goes on here?"

Ned agreed readily, and produced a couple of chairs. Within minutes, all the other chairs in the room were occupied, and Ned began proceedings.

"Thank you, gentlemen. Broken Hill Proprietary."

"Buy five hundred at fifteen and a quarter!"

"Buy a thousand at fifteen and an eighth!"

"Sell two hundred at fifteen and a quarter!"

Phryne caught the gist of the first few calls, but after that they came so quickly that she couldn't keep up. Her gaze snapped from one broker to another as hands raised and bids and offers were placed. Ned and his colleagues on the dais watched listened and scribed swiftly; a matched bargain was indicated by a pointed finger, and the satisfied operator would either scribble on his sheet and sit back, or move onto the next ticket on his desk. Every now and again, the door to the room opened and a girl carrying more tickets would enter, passing them without comment to one of the operating brokers.

Within a remarkably short time, the hubbub ceased. Trade in the shares of the Broken Hill Proprietary Company had been completed for the day. Dot looked at Phryne, Phryne looked at Dot and they slipped out of the room as surreptitiously as they could.

"Gracious, Miss!" exclaimed Dot as the door swung to behind them. "What a madhouse! How can that possibly be the best way to do it?"

"No idea, Dot," replied Phryne cheerfully. "Fascinating, though. I wonder if there are any women brokers?"

As they were then making their way to the third floor, it was the first question they put to the group of young women who had been detailed to look after the interests of Messrs. Armstrong, Schultz and Cooper.

"Oh no, Miss," replied the most senior of the three. Caroline O'Dowd's Irish descent was plain to see in her dark hair and eyes 'put in with a smutty finger', and she was clearly the self-appointed spokeswoman. "It wouldn't be right, would it? A lady, in the middle of all that shouting? No, I can't see that at all."

 _I wouldn't mind giving it a shot_ , thought Phryne, but only nodded agreeably. She and Dot had timed their visit well – with the brokers engaged in their main task of dealing, the pressure was alleviated on their support team within the building.

"You've been here a long time, Miss O'Dowd?" asked Dot, notepad at the ready.

"Coming up for two years now," she said proudly. "Mr Cooper says he doesn't know what he'd do without me now."

 _She may be the spokeswoman,_ thought Phryne _, but she's certainly not Miss Popularity at the Melbourne Stock Exchange_. The glance exchanged between the other two women at this pronouncement had stopped short of an eye-roll – just.

"And you two?" she asked, smiling at them.

"Nearly three months," replied the longer-haired girl, who'd introduced herself as Sarah Oliver.

The third girl, secretary to the late Mr Armstrong, remained subdued, apparently satisfied to observe the conversation rather than participate. Phryne, however, wasn't having that.

"Where were you before this, Miss Black?" she asked kindly.

"Home" was the monosyllabic response. The implication was clear, however; Amy Black hadn't had a job until this one came along.

"Can I ask … whether you will still be working here now? Or even whether you know yet?" asked Phryne gently.

"Think so," the girl replied. "They'll be sending someone else to take the seat. Should have had someone today, really, because they've still got orders. They asked Mr Schultz to do them."

"They can't do that for long," interrupted Miss O'Dowd importantly. "It's their firm's responsibility, not Mr Schultz's. What if someone wasn't happy with the price they got?"

The other two girls nodded wisely; Dot and Phryne followed suit.

"Mr Armstrong was good at his job, I believe?" asked Phryne. "Would it be hard for Mr Schultz to do as well? Would people notice?"

The hesitation among the three women was almost – but not quite – imperceptible. Sarah Oliver was the first to speak up.

"Mr Schultz is very good at his job. His firm's smaller than the others' but he's been doing very well."

Amy Black's hackles rose instantly. "Mr Armstrong was much better, though! He was doing bigger trades, and making really good profits for his clients …" she trailed away as though she'd realised she said something she shouldn't.

"How would you know?" asked Caroline O'Dowd scornfully.

"I just ... I pay attention," said Amy defensively.

"You want to pay attention to your work, missy," accused Caroline.

Amy's response was to glare and return to her desk at the far side of the office with what could only have been described as a Flounce. Sarah Oliver watched her with a furrowed brow.

"Did you have to be so horrid, Caroline?" she asked quietly. "You know how well she got on with Mr Armstrong."

Caroline sniffed. "Too well, if you ask me. Always whispering in corners, the pair of them. It's not right. A girl needs to keep a professional distance."

"Like you do from old Creepy Cooper?"

Caroline tossed her head and stalked to her own desk.

Sarah watched her go, and glanced meaningfully at Phryne and Dot, before heading for the door to the stairs.

"Just going for a breath of air," she announced to the world in general. The World In General apparently had better things to do than bother with the oxygen addiction of a typist (in fact, two of its occupants were already drawing gratefully on gaspers), but the two lady detectives were fascinated and pursued her out of the building.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"Amy got on well with Mr Armstrong, then?" asked Phryne, as the three women congregated on the pavement near the door of the Exchange.

Sarah gave a lopsided smile.

"I wanted to get away from Caroline, but only because she's right – I just hate to hear her boasting about it. Amy's quite young – Caroline takes advantage of her all the time, makes her run down to the Call Room with everyone's orders, instead of going herself – that kind of thing. Amy's a good typist and she's got the eye for detail you need in this job, but I think she fancied Mr Armstrong something rotten. He couldn't do any wrong in her eyes."

Dot looked confused. "What wrong can you do in this place? Surely it's just about buying and selling shares? Or have I still missed something?" She grimaced at the other two. "There was me thinking I was starting to get the hang of this."

Sarah laughed.

"I'm sure you have, Miss Williams. We're just a place for buyers and sellers to meet, so there isn't that much to it. Still, there's always competition – the best prices, the best clients, the best profits. The brokers who can advise their clients like to be able to give them the next big idea; the operators like to be able to sneak in before the rest to get the best price, and the advisers and operators gossip terribly. A bunch of old women!"

Phryne was interested. "So how do they get their 'big ideas'?"

Sarah shrugged. "I can't speak for Mr Armstrong, but my Mr Schultz is always trying to be the first with the news. He doesn't eat lunch – he goes to the newspaper desks to try to find out what's happening before anyone else does."

"How does that help him, though?" asked Dot.

"Well, imagine if he got word that a company was going to get taken over. He might have instructions to buy that company's shares at the best price he can. If he thinks those shares are going to be going up a lot, he'll be happy to pay more for them that day, rather than wait until the next day when the takeover's been announced. So, everyone else buys at ten pounds and then walks away with some unfilled orders, but he pays eleven to get all the shares he's been asked to buy – he looks silly, but only until the takeover's announced, and everyone else is paying fifteen or sixteen pounds to fill the orders they're still sitting on."

"Even I can see how that works," Phryne remarked. "So, what about Armstrong? Where did he get his big ideas?"

"I really don't know," admitted Sarah. "All I know is that he was always urging the advisers to give him bigger and bigger trades; and because he was so often calling the prices well, he made them money, so they were trusting him more."

At that, she looked at her pretty little wristwatch and apologised to them.

"I'll need to get back. Nice talking to you, though, Let me know if you need anything else." With that, she hurried back into the building, leaving the two detectives looking at each other.

Phryne was the first to speak. "D'you know what I think, Dot?"

Dot tipped her head. "I think we need to hear Schultz and Cooper's version of Armstrong's success."

"Then we are Of One Mind. Where do you think we'll find the Inspector and Constable Collins?"

Dot grinned.

"Behind you, Miss."

"Miss Fisher. Not fainting today, then?"

Miss Fisher beamed, and the world righted itself on its axis for at least one gentleman present. "Hello, Jack!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The options available being a nearby teashop, Right There In The Street or City South, it was decided quite quickly that they should all reconvene in the Inspector's office to compare notes.

Phryne got there first, but after Dot pointedly cleared her throat, decided to adopt tact for once, and took the seat facing the Inspector's usual habitat.

"So, Miss Fisher, tell all," he requested tranquilly as he strolled in a few minutes later, Collins at his heels. Abiding by the law – in this case, the speed limit – would often put him two steps behind Phryne, but he'd learned not to worry too much about it. She'd got a lovely habit of relying on the law enforcement community when it suited her, after all, which sometimes meant hanging around tapping her foot and waiting for them to catch up.

She pouted. "I was rather hoping you'd tell us how you got on with Cooper and Schultz."

He met her gaze. "My office, my rules, Miss Fisher."

She met it straight back. _My boudoir, my rules, Inspector_.

He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair.

She smiled blandly. "Very well then. There's a very clear hierarchy among the secretaries. Amy's the most junior of the three and Caroline the most senior. That made Sarah the most useful to Dot and me – in as much as anyone was."

Jack raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Any petty rivalries? Any scores needing settled?"

"Plenty!" Phryne laughed, "as long as you were talking about the kind of things that were settled in the school playground. Caroline would send Amy to the Call Room with the orders … what?"

Both policemen were regarding her fixedly. Dot hid a smile.

Hugh Collins plucked up courage to ask, "What is the Call Room and what orders … Miss?"

Phryne adopted her best poker face to explain the workings of the Melbourne Stock Exchange, as though she hadn't sat through a few minutes of a trading session for the first time in her life a couple of hours beforehand. Apart from an accidental reference to the Broken Mountain company, which could happen to anyone really, she did very well (thought Dot).

"Anyway," resumed Phryne as though she hadn't been interrupted by insufficiently educated policemen, "we only really discovered that Schultz is successful, Armstrong is – or was – much more so, and Cooper is a bit of a slime ball whose performance didn't seem worth mentioning, let alone writing home about. Cooper's secretary avoids him as much as she can, Armstrong's didn't avoid him nearly enough, and Schultz doesn't seem to see his secretary often enough for her to have to try to avoid him because he was always out trying to find out the next Big Thing."

She folded her arms and tilted her head. "Over to you, Inspector. What did you glean from the bounteous fields of high finance?"

Jack slumped slightly in his chair.

"Collins?" he invited.

The Constable removed his notebook from his pocket, leafed hurriedly through the pages and cleared his throat. "Between the hours of one and two p.m. on the day of the murder – if we're calling it that, sir, are we calling it a murder now?" he asked the Inspector.

Jack waved an absent hand. "It's sufficiently likely to be a working assumption, Collins. Carry on."

"… er, on the day of the murder – Mr Len Cooper finished some paperwork at his desk, and then went to buy a pie at the cart outside the doors of the Exchange and ate it in the street. He then strolled for a while, returning to his desk just before two p.m."

"Without noticing the dead body in the street? Did anyone see him?"

"He said that he noticed there had been a car accident, but he didn't think it seemly to peer at the … er, yes, the 'unfortunate victim' …and no, no-one recalls seeing him at the pie cart. We haven't yet asked for witnesses of his stroll."

Phryne refrained from commenting. "And Mr Schultz?"

"Yes, er … he went to the newspaper offices, but they don't remember seeing him."

"What, no-one at all?" asked Phryne incredulously. "An entire industry devoted to reporting what's happening and they overlook a chap standing by the front desk for the best part of an hour?"

"Apparently so," said Jack tiredly. "We asked both of the newspaper staffers whose job it was to mind the counter, and the journalist from the business desk who's Schultz's main contact, and none of them can say they saw him."

Silence.

"That's it? That's all we've got?" asked Phryne crossly. "Three scrapping secretaries and two brokers on walkabout?"

Resounding silence. Had Jack stocked up on tumbleweed, it would have been drifting across his desk just to help the atmosphere along.

Accustomed to inspiring action, the Inspector sat forward. "Let's at least try to narrow down Cooper's alibi. What time is it?"

"Twelve thirty, sir," said Collins eagerly. "I could go back to the Exchange and find out where he goes today?"

"Good plan, Collins."

"I think Dot should go with him," interject Phryne smoothly. "Don't start getting all suspicious on me, Jack. If Cooper starts going around the shops, it will be a lot easier for Dot to keep an eye on him than Hugh in his lovely shiny uniform."

Jack shrugged. "Fair enough. Do you mind, Miss Williams?"

"Not at all, Inspector," she smiled. "I've been wanting to take Constable Collins shopping for a while now."

Husband and wife disappeared off, leaving Miss Fisher and the Inspector regarding one another across the empty desk.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Phryne was the first to speak.

"Not many leads, Jack. What about the men's statements on Armstrong?" she pressed. "Anything in there? Do they know how he was making so much money?"

"Cooper didn't seem to care that much. He seems to be the opposite of ambitious – and the opposite of Schultz."

"So Schultz is ambitious?" asked Phryne interestedly. "Was he perhaps jealous of Armstrong's success?"

"Perhaps." Jack frowned. "But it's a competitive industry – they can't go around killing people just for being better at it than them!"

He scooted forward in his chair, planted his elbows on the desk and propped his face glumly between his palms. "Trying to find a reason to kill someone for making lots of money? I know your red-raggers would call it theft, but for the rest of the world, it's an all-too-rare skill right now."

"It was what brought you after me to London, though, in a way?" remarked Phryne pensively. "Too much money, wasn't that what Bill Cooper said?"

That had indeed been the reason the Chief Commissioner had sent Detective Inspector Jack Robinson haring half way around the world – or at least, the ostensible reason, and the crime in question had certainly been satisfactorily and comprehensively solved by them both.

The fact that they had at the same time finally been allowed to discover some clues to their own hearts was neither here nor there.

Jack realised that the rest of the room was drifting out of focus behind a gently smiling face, and brought himself hurriedly back to the present.

"Too much money – yes. Absolutely."

Phryne grinned inwardly, but straight-batted her response. "Did you get the chance to check Armstrong's papers?" she asked innocently.

"Of course. It was all just instructions to trade, and copies of contract notes, and letters confirming trades – really, nothing but that," he said.

"There must be more than that. What if there's something he was hiding? Did you bring them away with you?"

He shook his head. The likelihood of finding the clue to a murder in an order to buy five hundred shares in the Dunlop Rubber Company – even in code – seemed so remote as to be not worth bothering about.

"Can I come with you to have another look? Please, Jack?"

He considered. "I don't see why not. After hours might be best, so that we're not observed by our suspects – I'll have to clear it with Rowlands, but he's keen to have the thing cleared up. It can't be today, though. The Chief Commissioner's having a reception at four, and I've got to be there, and then it's the wretched dinner tonight."

Phryne's lips twitched. There was a very good reason that her husband had stuck at the level of Detective Inspector – it was chiefly down to the healthy loathing he had for any kind of ceremonial event, and the Chief Commissioner's Dinner was a typical example of Hell On Earth for him.

"But Jack, what if someone tries to get rid of evidence …?"

"Tomorrow, Miss Fisher," he said firmly. "At the moment they don't think we suspect them, and we're not even sure what it is we're looking for. And no, you may not go on your own. Quite apart from the procedural question, we've got your condition to consider."

She subsided. If he hadn't already been fixated with the prospect of a stiff collar and endless speeches, it might have occurred to him to worry about reasons why.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Having completed their task, Miss Williams travelled to 221B The Esplanade and Senior Constable Collins to City South to report separately to their respective colleagues; the story they carried was mildly entertaining and bore at least some resemblance to their spouse's account in the telling.

"It was awful, Miss."

"It was pretty hilarious, Sir."

"He ate his pie from the cart for lunch, and got it all over his face and his shirt."

"He scarfed down his pie in five seconds flat and took off like a dingo with a scent of a rabbit."

"Then he hurried off to one of the department stores in Collins Street."

"Never seen anyone dive through the door to Lawless & Co so fast. You'd have thought they were having a closing down sale."

"We struggled to keep up."

"Dottie had to get her elbows out in the perfumery. I think there's a lady wearing most of a bottle of something pretty rank right now who got in her way. That's Mrs Collins for you."

"The crush was dreadful on the ground floor, and people were rather rude."

"So he had a bit of a lead on us to get to the first floor."

"I don't know if you remember the layout of the store, Miss? There's a big staircase with a turn in it. Hugh took them two at a time."

"I couldn't see the bloke at first."

"It wasn't until I caught up, though, that we saw him in the lingerie section."

"Then Dottie spotted him in the ladies' undies. No, sir, not like that, haha, he was just in the department, y'know, where they sell the stuff."

"He was talking to an assistant, so I went a bit closer to see if I could hear what they were saying."

"I didn't like to go in there, in my uniform and all, so I sent Dot to see what she could see."

"I couldn't believe it, Miss."

"Dot was really upset, sir, I could tell."

"She looked like a _nice_ lady."

"I mean, I dunno what they usually talk about in there. But they seemed to be laughing a lot."

"But she showed him something in a really fine silk, lovely work. Hand stitching in the lace, I think. It was a box she had under the counter, and all wrapped up in tissue paper."

"She showed him some knickers, sir!"

There was one point on which both Mr and Mrs Collins were, however, unanimous.

" _Then he pinched her bum!_ "

Miss Fisher was, by this time, weeping with laughter. The Inspector, in his office, had his hand over his mouth trying to retain a semblance of solemnity. The telephone on his desk rang and he reached for it automatically. "Jack Robinson."

"Jack, it's me. Have you heard?"

"I have received Constable Collins' report on the surveillance of Len Cooper, yes."

He could hear the grin down the telephone. "I bet he didn't mention lace stitching once."

He grinned back. "No, but I bet an upset with a perfume bottle was edited out of your version."

An unladylike snort was the response.

"So, do we take it that Slimeball Cooper is guilty of nothing more than mild indecencies in Ladies' Underwear?" she asked.

"I believe Miss Williams was able to confirm his presence on the day in question, yes."

"She should get an award for acting, Jack. Apparently she professed admiration that Laverne in Lingerie had a beau who never missed a day of coming to visit her and pinch her bottom so assiduously."

"I will see if those new Academy Awards are being offered to Australian detectives, Miss Fisher."

"Failing that, check with the Pope, Jack. She's put up with me for so long now that she should probably be beatified."

"Agreed, Miss Fisher. And I'm interested. Given that Dot and I both met you on the same day ...?"

"Sorry, Jack, you married me. The Catholic Church doesn't approve of reckless gamblers."

"Unanswerable. Will I see you when I come home to change for the dinner?"

"I will personally tie your bow tie, Inspector."

"That's welcome news, though I would remind you that the dinner starts at seven."

"I don't know what you mean. Why should me standing in front of you messing with beautiful silk around your neck delay you in any way at all?"

The line was silent for a few moments.

"Jack?"

"I'll come home early from the reception. Give myself a bit more time to change."

"Excellent idea, Inspector. See you later."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Dorothy having departed to return to her young family, Miss Fisher decided to recruit her flagging energy with a quick nap. It felt as though her eyes had barely closed when there was a gentle tap on the door.

"Miss Fisher? I have brought you some tea."

It was with a slight effort that Phryne cranked open her eyes to see Lin Soo, her maid, placing a tray gently down on the table beside her bed.

"Soo, thank you. I'm glad you're here. I've got something I want to ask you about. Sit down, do!" said Phryne cordially, as she propped herself comfortably against the pillows and reached for the teacup.

"How can I help you, Miss?" asked Soo politely. Soo was always polite, with the possible exception of the times when it was necessary for her to be monumentally rude. However, she had a keen eye for fashion, made perfect tea and had managed to avoid being shot by Jack Robinson the first time he met her, so Phryne regarded her as An Asset.

"You remember the first time we met, Soo?" asked Phryne, closing her eyes in bliss at the fragrant steam emanating from the cup.

"The first time, or the first time with my uncle, Miss?" asked Soo carefully.

"The first time," replied Phryne firmly. "You demonstrated remarkable skills on that occasion at gaining access to a building and searching it without causing unnecessary disruption. In, if you recall, the middle of the night."

"That is correct, Miss," Soo responded. Phryne wryly recognised the same inscrutable expression the girl's uncle often put to such good use.

"Well, I need you to do it again."

"Yes, Miss? Where and when?"

Phryne approved enormously. No ifs, buts or I-can't-possiblys. She'd known this was a maid worth keeping.

"Tonight, with me, at the Melbourne Stock Exchange. The Inspector has told me I may not go alone, so I plan to take you."

"Very well, Miss. I think your black drawstring trousers will be appropriate."

Definitely worth keeping.

The Inspector showed up shortly after five, and spent what an innocent observer might have thought an unconscionably long time in Miss Fisher's boudoir getting ready for his ceremonial dinner. In the event, though, neither of the observers there present was in the least bit innocent, so the fact that he was forced to run down the stairs slightly out of breath and with his bow tie still hanging loosely around his neck when Bert arrived with the taxi was in fact Perfectly Normal.

Miss Fisher dined in a leisurely manner and in solitary state, Jane having declared herself too hungry to wait and instead taken her meal around the kitchen table with Mr B and Lin Soo earlier. She then curled up with one of Jack's Zane Greys until darkness fell at around nine, and then allowed Soo to help her change into the black trousers, a high-necked black sweater and her favourite black woven beret.

As soon as they arrived at the Stock Exchange, she was glad of Soo's presence. With the best will in the world, she would have struggled to climb the rope to the first floor window which they observed to be slightly open and therefore almost certainly the best way to get in. Once the grappling-hook was in place, though her athletic little maid swarmed up like a monkey, and reappeared a few minutes later at one of the ground-floor windows, which proved a much less challenging entry route. Leaving it open by a crack at the bottom, they switched on torches and made their way up to the third floor. Here, it was left to Soo to keep watch while Phryne worked her way steadily through Armstrong's desk.

There was, as Jack had said, a raft of extremely mundane paperwork, and not a great deal else. One or two congratulatory letters from happy clients were stored in the top drawer, apparently re-read frequently. There was a single ledger where every single trade he had placed was recorded, and after a moment's thought, Phryne appropriated it. Then, after a very brief battle with her conscience, she went in search of Schultz's office, where she located a similar volume and helped herself to that too.

Dot, she reasoned, could quite happily take a closer look in the comfort of her own home; attention to laborious detail being more her skill than Miss Fisher's.

As she was closing the desk drawer, though, there was a hiss from Soo, who was stationed at the top of the stairs. Swiftly, she moved to the door and joined her maid in shrinking behind it, as they listened to someone climbing the stairs. Torchlight preceded the new intruder through the doorway, and they held their breath as he made his way to Armstrong's office, striding inside without hesitation.

Phryne was torn. She couldn't see his face, and wouldn't be able to shine a torch at him without alerting him to their presence. Equally, she didn't fancy a confrontation when she herself was unarmed. Eventually, she decided he must have entered by the same window they had used, and she could just as easily wait to see him in the light from the street lamps.

She nudged Soo, and the pair crept like mice around the door before making their way as quickly and quietly as possible back to the ground floor.

Phryne carefully climbed out of the window and paused for a moment to catch her breath. Really, this pregnancy lark was downright irritating when a girl couldn't canter down six flights of stairs and climb through a window without having to take a break.

As she straightened up, she turned to the Hispano – and stopped. Leaning against it was a gentleman in evening dress. She knew which gentleman it was, because her knees went a bit wobbly, and she cursed the Chief Commissioner for failing to ensure that his dinners went on to a respectably late hour.

Compressing her lips, she gave the return to her stylish vehicle her best sashay.

It didn't work.

"Busy night, Miss Fisher?" asked the Inspector sarcastically.

In the circumstances, she decided to dispense with her usual greeting to him – for one thing, it was a bit noisy, and for another thing she was a sucker for a man in a tail coat. Instead, she adopted the strategy that had worked well in forty-three out of forty-four times when she'd thought a man was cross with her and immediate reconciliation was required.

(On the forty-fourth occasion the man in question had turned out to be a woman in disguise, and they had laughed about it uproariously. Mac, in fact, still dined out on that particular tale.)

On this occasion, it worked beautifully. It wasn't as though she was wearing much lipstick anyway, and her mother had always told her to share her gifts.

He was about to offer to let her drive home when they both realised they were not alone. Phryne had momentarily forgotten that Soo was still inside the building; and Jack hadn't known in the first place.

It wasn't Soo, though, who was climbing out of the same window Phryne had so recently exited. Jack started, and gripped Phryne's arms to push her away.

At the same time, though, Phryne hissed, " _Jack, up there!_ " He followed her gaze, and saw the faintest flicker of light on the third floor. The light was not of the electric variety, and the chances of anyone wanting a fire in the grate at that hour of one of the hottest nights of the year were slim.

Their eyes met, and instant decisions were made. Phryne gave them voice. "You get him, I'll get the Fire Brigade".

He nodded, and turned to run after the miscreant; but he didn't have to run far.

For some reason, the man was collapsed, with one foot still in the window and the other out, his head almost touching the pavement below. Jack stopped, hands on hips, to survey the poor soul dangling helplessly in front of him. A movement in the window caught his eye, and he was slightly startled to observe Miss Fisher's maid, dressed all in black, give him a grin and a wink, before flicking her hand at the man's ankle.

With a whirl, the weighted leather strap released the captive; having no warning of his imminent freedom, he wasn't as grateful as he should have been. Some people just didn't seem to have heads hard enough to cope with landing on paving stones.

The Inspector reflected that Felix Schultz was going to have a corking black eye when he woke up.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"Stalemate" said Jack resignedly. "He admits setting the fire in Armstrong's office, but won't say anything else; and although it must have been him who pushed Armstrong out of the window, we've got no-one who can say he was there and no motive."

"At least we got the ledgers out before everything else went up in flames, Jack," said Phryne hopefully. "Maybe Dot will see something you and I missed."

He sighed. "We might as well go and see how she's getting on – there's nothing more we can do here."

They ambled out of City South towards her car, and she finally drummed up the courage to ask a question that had been niggling.

"Jack?"

"Mmm?"

"How did you know I was at the Stock Exchange last night?"

He quirked a smile.

"I'd love you to think me a genius, Phryne, but you know me too well."

She smirked, but the smile was soon wiped away.

"I … wasn't comfortable at the dinner. Something felt wrong, and so I left as soon as the speeches finished." He met her glance wryly. "Yes, there were the usual number of jokes about newlyweds."

She cringed, knowing just how much it would cost him to have his commitment to his job tossed around so lightly by his peers.

"Bert took me straight home, I asked him to wait, and Mr B told me that you weren't there. I worked out the rest for myself."

What was genius, after all, but perspiration with the faintest hint of inspiration?

He stopped, forcing her to stop too, and took both her hands.

"Nothing's changed for me, Phryne – I'm not going to stop wanting to keep you safe. I know you took me at my word when you added Lin Soo to the raiding party."

He held her hands more tightly and met her eyes with a level of vulnerability she rarely saw.

"If you could take me at my heartfelt desire as well, I could sleep better,"

It was, in his own word, Unanswerable. She dipped her head and they walked on to the car.

The Collins household was missing fifty percent of its residents when they arrived, because Mrs Collins' help, Miss Stubbs, had taken Gid and Meggie to the park. The twins were enormous fans of running around in endless circles after each other, and also eating dirt; Miss Stubbs was in favour of the first and didn't see any enormous problems with the second, so they went to the park quite a lot.

The door was opened by Constable Collins, who immediately apologised to Miss Fisher for his shirt-sleeved state.

"Hugh, I've seen you in a swimming costume – believe me, your torso offers me very few mysteries these days," she grinned. He goggled a little, then decided it was all right to grin back, before leading the way to the kitchen, at whose table Dot was sitting with the ledgers open before her.

"How goes it, Miss Williams?" asked Jack, settling himself at the table and accepting a cup of tea from her husband.

"I'm not sure, Inspector," she said hesitantly, "but I think there might be something."

Phryne, who had also relaxed into one of the chairs, perked up instantly.

"What, Dot? Tell all!"

Dot was unusually absent, peering in turn from one ledger to the other.

"Well, it's this client of Schultz's. Duval Capital. They caught my eye because they were coming up a lot in his ledger – trading most days, not in huge numbers of shares, but big enough to make a difference to him, I'm sure. And he was doing well for them too. I looked back as far as October, and he'd made them some good money. I think I need someone to read out the prices of some trades in Armstrong's book, though."

"All right, let's do that," said Phryne, pulling the other ledger towards her.

"Right, on November 1st, you're looking for a purchase of Consolidated Copper."

"Yes, here's one – a thousand shares at fourteen pounds."

Dot looked up. "That fits with what I'm seeing. Schultz bought two hundred shares for Duval Capital at fourteen and a quarter."

The policemen looked at one another and at their wives, nonplussed, but Phryne had an inkling of Dot's thinking, and they pressed on. For each trade Phryne read out, Dot provided a matching one, a fraction of the size and at a less good price.

After the first half a dozen examples, they were satisfied that a pattern had been found.

"Then see here, Miss?" Dot reached across to the ledger in Phryne's hands, and turned it to the latest page. She pointed at a single line.

"A trade from Duval Capital. In Armstrong's book."

Phryne clapped her hands. "Dot, you're onto something. Somehow, Armstrong poached Schultz's best client." She turned to Jack, who was keeping up with the conversation only by the barest of threads. "There was a letter, Jack, in Armstrong's drawer. There were a few letters, but I'm sure one was from Duval, saying that they were looking forward to a profitable relationship. Unlike the others, it wasn't well-thumbed – I didn't see the date, but it must have been recent."

The two women stopped scanning the ledgers and folded their hands simultaneously on the table to think.

Dot spoke up first. "Schultz did research, knew when he was getting a good price."

Phryne responded, "Armstrong kept an eye on the trades he was doing and noticed the way Duval were making money."

They looked up at one another, a question in both pairs of eyes.

Phryne again. "How did Armstrong know when it was a Duval trade?"

The penny dropped, the light was on, the choir sang and they both chorused in perfect harmony.

"Amy."

The Inspector at this stage thought it not indecently rude to butt in with a question to help The Police Keep Up.

"What on earth does Amy have to do with it?" he asked, confusedly.

"She was the most junior of the secretaries, and so they usually made her take the dealing tickets to the Call Room," explained Phryne. "All she would have to do would be to keep an eye out for Duval orders and pass the word to Armstrong. She'd do anything for him, apparently."

Jack drained his tea and stood up.

"I think I need a word with Amy. Coming, Miss Fisher?"

"Right away, Inspector!"


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Amy sat on the hard chair of the interview room, weeping copiously.

"I was just helping him get on a bit!" she wailed. "He said that if he could put on bigger orders in the same stocks, he'd get a better price! And he was ri-i-ight!"

Her audience was unimpressed. Phryne sat in the chair opposite, and Jack leaned against the wall behind her, hands in pockets.

"And you didn't think Schultz would notice what was going on?" asked Phryne incredulously.

The girl blew her nose, and shook her head dolefully.

"Not even when he started to lose clients?"

She clearly had no answer for that, and simply looked scared.

"How did Duval know what prices Armstrong was getting?" asked Phryne.

Amy at least knew that one. "All the trades get chalked up on a board outside the Call Room. Anyone can come and see them."

Jack nodded, as the picture became clear in his mind. "Duval see Schultz do well, but also that there's someone doing consistently better. They'd be mad not to do something about it."

He looked coldly at Amy. "I wouldn't expect to keep your job at the Exchange after this, young lady."

That started her off weeping again; impatiently, he held the door open for her and she wandered blindly out of the station.

Schultz, brought from his cell for questioning, was sullen.

"It must have been galling," Phryne remarked. "Watching all your hard work being stolen. When did you find out Amy was passing on details of your Duval trades to Armstrong?"

He looked at her, startled.

" _You didn't know?_ " asked Jack. Then he reasoned it out. "Of course you didn't know. If you had, you'd have got her sacked."

"Damn right I would!" Schultz exclaimed furiously. "The little _bitch_! So that's how he did it!"

"So when Duval Capital told you they were shifting their business to Armstrong, you went to his office to have it out with him." Phryne was building the picture in her mind. "It was a hot day. The window would be wide open. You started an argument. Then you shoved him. Then he shoved you back. He probably laughed at you, I expect."

Then Schultz was on his feet, his face inches from hers. Jack started forward, but Phryne didn't move a muscle.

" _Yes, he laughed at me_ ," snarled Schultz. "That incompetent, brazen _fraud_ had the brass neck to laugh at me. He wouldn't know a good trade if it slapped him around the face, without me. Then he poked me in the chest and laughed a bit more. Then I shoved him, and he fell out of the window, and the world is a better place."

He sat down, filled with righteous anger, and looked from one of them to the other, one fist clenched on the table in front of him.

"The world's a better place, Inspector."

"The world may well be, Mr Schultz," replied Jack mildly. "But it's still manslaughter at the very least, and you're still going to jail."


	14. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

It was too hot to cuddle. Phryne lay on her side, trying to find a comfortable position; Jack was on his back behind her, dozing fitfully.

All of a sudden, Phryne tensed.

" _Jack!_ " she whispered.

"Mmm?"

But she didn't speak again. Instead, she reached behind her for his farther hand and brought it round her to rest on the gentle swell of her stomach.

Then he felt it too – the slight fluttering as the new life shifted inside her.

Heart hammering, he propped himself on one elbow to gaze in awe at the place his hand rested, then up at her face.

Her eyes sparkled. "You thought stopping me moving was going to be difficult – I think you've got even more fierce competition now."

He only grinned, kissed her with infinite gentleness, and settled down to spoon her, hand on her stomach and his child, heart full.


End file.
